James Potter and the Sword of Gryffindor: Extras
by ColbiWest
Summary: This collection of short stories shows extra scenes occuring alongside the main action in James Potter and the Sword of Gryffindor, all featuring the adventures of secondary characters. If you have read the Sword of Gryffindor already, I highly recommend you follow up with these!
1. The Sorting Ceremony

_**WARNING - READ AUTHOR'S NOTE**_

 ** _Welcome to_ James Potter and the Sword of Gryffindor: Extras! _If you have not yet read_ James Potter and the Sword of Gryffindor _, I strongly recommend doing so before reading these extra scenes. These stories are meant to fill in the time gap before_ James Potter and the Lost School _is released, the second in the series. Starting with this excerpt, where we have an insider's look at the Sorting Hat's decision-making, these extras will follow along the plot of my first book and provide insight into events or characters beyond our young hero James' knowledge or control. I hope you enjoy these scenes!_**

* * *

 **The Sorting Ceremony**

 **(Please have read the second chapter of _James Potter and the Sword of Gryffindor_ , "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry" before reading.)**

Sirius Black:

Hmm, an interesting case. You're definitely brave, though bold might be a more accurate way of putting it . . . You come from a Slytherin background, don't you? I can certainly see the appeal for you—and yet I sense a certain reluctance. Why would that be? Slytherin's a fine House, and I can't say you wouldn't do well there. Does it have to do with your family? I sense your need to be different; there's that Slytherin pride again, always behind your motives . . . (Pauses to listen to Sirius, who breaks in with a string of angry expletives.) Fine, I'll consider it again! No need to be rude. Where would you want to be headed, if you had the choice? (Pauses while Sirius hesitates and then responds.) Really? Well, I can't really disagree with you there. After all, Slytherin has been said to share quite a few traits with its biggest rival— _stubbornness_ not being the least of which. Well, since you insist, I suppose I'll consent. GRYFFINDOR!

Lily Evans:

Yikes, GRYFFINDOR!

Remus Lupin:

Interesting . . . I'm seeing a lot of different traits, many of which could fit in any of the Houses. In fact, to be perfectly honest with you, you may be one of the most challenging cases I've seen. You're remarkably well-balanced in almost every possible way, and I could place you in almost any one of the Houses with equal certainty. To start, you seem to possess a good mind, a level head, and a fair-minded personality. Have you considered Ravenclaw? It seems the most immediately obvious choice, though I wouldn't throw aside the others so quickly. After all, you have a remarkable work ethic—one of the best I've ever seen. And I can't deny your commendable level of loyalty, which would make you a better fit for Hufflepuff. Yes, even your just temperament would work well there—on second thought, I find Hufflepuff a much better match than Ravenclaw. But still . . . something about the remaining Houses begs me to stop and reconsider. Slytherin wouldn't be a bad choice; you seem to have a lot of drive and a fair amount of cunning, though others might not suspect it. Still, I think your conservativeness and love for the rules would keep you from best flourishing in that House, so I'll decide against it. That leaves Gryffindor, and you don't appear to possess the same level of bravery I've witnessed in so many of the other candidates over the centuries. However, there's still that unwavering loyalty for those close to you, as well as something else I can't quite place . . . You've been through a lot, haven't you, even at your young age? Whatever it is, it seems to have granted you with a quality precious others can claim. What would be the best word used to describe it? Wisdom? Fortitude? Perseverance? Well, however you explain it, it seems to overpower your other traits quite impressively. Therefore, I think I can cross off Hufflepuff. After all, there is more than one type of courage . . . GRYFFINDOR!

Peter Pettigrew:

(Sighs.) And I thought I was through with difficult ones today . . . Calm down, didn't you hear me singing not a half hour ago? It never ceases to amaze me—anyway, where was I? Oh, yes. This may prove more involved than I would like this close to finishing. Well, I think I can cross off Ravenclaw. Nothing personal, but there doesn't seem to be a whole lot going on up here. The same goes with Hufflepuff; it's not that you can't put in your fair share of hard work, but your loyalty seems to be a little . . . sporadic. Limited to those you choose, in other words, and even their statuses aren't set in stone. You seem drawn to those in power most of all, which would put you at a good place in Slytherin. After all, surrounding yourself with promising companions is a sure way to rise in the world, and it's not an uncommon method used, even in this school. (Coughs politely.) You'll soon know what I mean. Anyway, I see an impressive degree of Slytherin qualities in you, but I'm not sure that you possess the appropriate amount of cunning the House usually looks for. Granted, you know when the wind is blowing in your favor, but you don't have the sort of mind to plan ahead or make careful decisions. I'd guess you normally rely on others to do your thinking for you, which is a quality often found in Gryffindor; they never can seem to shake their dependence on their peers, regardless of whether or not they offer sound advice. Slytherins put much more faith in their own opinions, which is one of the biggest differences between the two easily-confused Houses. Still, not to say that Gryffindors won't stubbornly stand by their views once they decide on a right course of action, but they are also more likely than their Slytherin counterparts to admit fault if they turn out to be in the wrong. So how do you see the world: in black-and-white, or in gray? Hmm . . . your convictions don't seem that strong one way or another, though that may be due in part to your lack of self-reliance. Do you have a preference? (Long pause while Peter stammers something about his lack of knowledge and gives a description even vaguer than the previous monologue.) Well, my point stands: you really can't come up with a decision on your own. Gryffindor, then? But Slytherin seems much more fitting, and you would find a slew of fellow students only too happy to lead you on your way to success. Still, can I really sign you off so quickly to a House where you would constantly be overshadowed and possibly taken advantage of by your more ambitious classmates? I hate to compromise people's potential, but Gryffindor is not always the most welcoming House, either. Your companions can make or break your school experience, so I hear. (Pauses while Peter pipes in with a few thoughts.) The Lupin boy? Yes, he's in Gryffindor. You met him on the Hogwarts Express? Having him with you might make an easier transition, but that still doesn't make it the correct choice—although, to be fair, there are seldom "correct" choices when it comes to this level of introspection. That being said, I think it's time I made a decision before I stall as long as with McGonagall when she was your age. Hold on a moment while I think. (Another contemplative pause.) All right: this is it. Plug your ears. GRYFFINDOR!

Severus Snape:

SLYTHERIN! (As the Sorting Hat is being taken off.) Wait! I meant—

* * *

 ** _If you have any suggestions for extra scenes based after the_ Sword of Gryffindor _, please leave a message or pm me!_**


	2. The Boy on the Train

_**For this next installment in the short series, please have read chapter two of**_ **James Potter and the Sword of Gryffindor** _ **, "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."**_

* * *

 **The Boy on the Train**

Breathing heavily, curly-headed Peter Pettigrew jogged up to the side of the glistening Hogwarts Express, which somehow managed to sit so pristinely in the midst of the bustling King's Cross Station, unconcerned that it would be departing the platform in mere minutes. In awe of its scarlet engine, Peter paused by the door to one of the cars near the back, allowing a few veteran students to jostle past him as he took in the sight. Soon, however, he gave his head a vicious shake to rid of his wandering thoughts, remembering what his mother had told him just moments before:

 _Don't let the train leave without you, lad! You'll be in a fine fix if you do, and I'll be in a right fury if I have to owl the conductor and ask him to come back!_

Envisioning his mother's all-too familiar expression of rage, Peter shuddered and scurried forward, pushing his monstrous suitcase up into the car in front of him. Unfortunately, his task proved more difficult than he had first anticipated, and he heaved against the weight as several other students began to queue up behind him, folding their arms impatiently. Struggling to shove his belongings on board, Peter scrunched up his face and gave another hard shove.

"Hurry it up already, will you?" one of the waiting students asked, tapping his foot. "The train's about to leave!"

"Almost . . . there!" Peter assured him, pushing once more so his suitcase thumped to the floor of the train. Murmuring their relief and exasperation, the others clambered up behind him after the first boy pushed him to the side with his luggage still in hand.

Discouraged, Peter began to drag his suitcase along the carpeted floor of the train car, peeking into the compartments to see if he could find a place to sit even at this late time. Unfortunately, most of the rooms were either too full to find a comfortable seat or had a group of talkative students exchanging stories about the summer break. Not fancying having to introduce himself to an established circle of friends, Peter kept walking down the line of compartments, hoping to find some other first-year students he could talk to. Everyone here seemed to be at least a head taller than he was, and he knew from experience that older kids did not speak with eleven-year olds if they could avoid it; and here, they could.

Sighing, Peter kept moving through the train, making room as best he could for the other passengers when they attempted to squeeze by his unwieldy suitcase. As he passed by yet another group of students, he heard two people talking just ahead of him, and he looked up hopefully at their conversation.

"I wasn't happy about the rule either, but my father says first-years can't do much at all," a stocky boy with a shock of blond hair was telling his companion, a shorter, tweedy boy with a face reminiscent of a crow.

"I can't wait until our second year," the other replied, his dark, beady eyes only drawing more attention to his oversized nose. "I'll be out of practice if I don't have my broomstick."

"Plus, by then we'll have learned a lot more spells," the blond boy agreed, still walking alongisde his companion with his back towards Peter. "I only know a few from my father, but he wouldn't show me any of the good ones until I started school. When I go home for the summer, he promised to teach me some more hexes so I can—"

Breaking off, he turned around and glared at Peter, who had been following a little too eagerly and had accidentally bumped into him. "Watch where you're going, Jelly-Legs!"

"Oh, sorry," Peter apologized, quickly jerking to a halt and letting his suitcase fall to the floor with a loud thump. Lowering his gaze to the floor, he waited for the others to keep on walking, but the boy kept glaring at him.

"You almost bowled me over!" he reprimanded, and Peter drew back in alarm. "Is sorry all you've got?"

"Er . . ." Peter hesitated, tilting his head. "Would you like me to ask your pardon?"

"No, I want you to take it back!" he demanded. Confused, Peter gestured vaguely over his shoulder.

"But I was only walking—"

"Take it back!" the boy growled deeply, and Peter suddenly noticed how high his blond head stood over him.

"Okay!" he squeaked in a failed attempt at concealing his alarm. "I take it back!"

"Good," the boy snapped before turning around, his friend following his lead.

Unfortunately, at that very moment, the train jolted forward; Peter, unprepared for the sudden motion, fell forward onto the two boys, his suitcase landing on top of them and breaking open. Groaning angrily as its contents splayed onto the floor, the boys underneath Peter shoved him away as he struggled to regain his balance. Attempting to stand a little too quickly, Peter caught his foot on one of his spilled textbooks, and he fell down again. Furious, the two boys leapt to their feet while Peter tried ungracefully to copy their movements, but he suddenly froze when the boys pulled out their wands from the inside of their robes and pointed them at him.

"That's it: I've had enough!" the larger one decreed, teeth bared while Peter locked his eyes on the end of his wand in terror. "Should I glue his clumsy feet together, or should I make him sprout cacti out of his ears?"

"Do the cacti, Sebastian!" the other one urged with a twisted smile. "I want to see the spines tickle his face!"

"Get ready to pay, chubby!" the first one told Peter, and he raised his wand while Peter winced and shut his eyes.

"Pardon me, so very sorry, could you move to the side just a bit?" an unfamiliar voice suddenly cut in, and Peter cracked open one of his eyelids to see a thin boy in heavily-patched robes trying to shove his way through his antagonizers. Surprised, the boys dropped their wands unhappily and moved aside while the newcomer tried to squeeze through them, dragging his suitcase.

"My apologies, I just can't seem to fit through anywhere today with this suitcase of mine—I hope you'll forgive my clumsiness," the boy continued to apologize. When he finally squeezed past Peter's attackers, he halted in front of the assorted textbooks and robes thrown across the hallway, raising a hand to his mouth. "Oh, my! I can see the reason for the holdup now! This is a catastrophe!"

Angred, the blond boy opened his mouth to say something from behind him, but the newcomer beat him to it. "Do you suppose we should call somebody?" he asked the other two, turning around. "This seems like a matter for a prefect. We can't have the passageway cluttered like this, after all." Putting his hands to his mouth, he turned around and called out, "Prefect? Is there a prefect on board?"

Alarmed, Peter's attackers took a few steps back with widened eyes. "Look, I'm sure you can take care of this, all right?" the crow-faced one told the boy in the patched robes, eyeing him with a sort of deep-rooted irritation.

As he and his friend turned to go, the taller boy gave Peter a hard look and kicked one of his quills on his way down the hall. "See you around, Jelly-Legs."

When they had stalked off down the corridor, Peter turned to look at his seemingly unwitting rescuer, still standing with a hand over his eyes as he stared off down the hallway. Once the others had left, the boy lowered his hand and smiled sheepishly at Peter. "Are you all right?" he asked, dropping to his knee and picking up a few of Peter's textbooks.

"I'm all right," Peter answered before reddening and glancing down at the floor. "Thanks."

"No problem," the other boy replied before holding out his hand. "I'm Remus. What's your name?"

"Peter," Peter responded, taking his hand and shaking it. Then, remembering his original plan, he brightened and smiled at Remus. "Do you want to find a compartment together?"

"Sure," Remus agreed, and he sighed as he threw a glance at the items scattered on the floor. "But seriously, we need to find someone to help clean this up. This really is a catastrophe."

Flushing again, Peter held out his hand for Remus to take, and the latter pulled him upright before accompanying him down the corridor to find a prefect.

* * *

 **For those of you who are curious, the two boys who cornered Peter are Sebastian Wilkes and Conway Avery. If you have any suggestions for short stories, remember to message me!**


	3. The First Night

**_For this excerpt, please have read the third chapter of_ James Potter and the Sword of Gryffindor _, "The First Day."_**

* * *

 **The First Night**

Bouncing onto his four-poster, Sirius jostled up and down with the mattress while he polished the end of his wand with his sleeve. To his right, his new roommates Remus and Peter were lying on their four-posters as well, the latter hanging over the side of his bed in an attempt to retrieve his slippers while Remus pored over an open book. Bored, Sirius took a final, examining glance at the tip of his wand and blew on it before rolling onto his stomach and staring at the others with his feet stuck in the air. Neither boy took any notice of him, being too involved with their tasks to look his way; only James' Screech owl, Hardwin, rotated his feathery head to stare at Sirius disinterestedly from his perch on the nearby windowsill. Leaning down dangerously, Peter suddenly gave a surprised grunt and grabbed onto one of his four-poster's bedposts as he almost fell to the floor, hanging on with just enough strength to finally snatch his slippers from the floor. From the neighboring four-poster, Remus cleared his throat quietly and turned a page.

"Hey!" Sirius spoke up, and Remus and Peter glanced up at him in surprise. "Do either of you know where James went?"

"He said he had something to do in the Great Hall," Remus replied, turning back to his book. "He didn't say how long he'd be."

Drumming his fingers on his cheeck disappointedly, Sirius sighed through his nose and then sat up again. "Do you want to go find him? I bet he's just sneaking out some extra food."

Freezing with his second slipper halfway on his foot, Peter looked at Remus inquisitively, but he only made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat and continued reading. Staring at him unhappily, Sirius eventually swung his legs over the side of his four-poster and dropped to the floor, clasping his hands behind his back. Pacing towards the others, he leaned down and peered curiously at the book cover in Remus' hands.

"What's that?"

" _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ ," Remus answered, giving Sirius a quick upwards glance as he turned another page.

Straightening, Sirius snorted amusedly. "We haven't even had Transfiguration yet! What are you reading that for?"

Frowning, Remus looked up again. "I want to have a good idea of what we'll be doing," he responded simply.

"Are those textbooks, too?" Sirius questioned, pointing at a stack of books on Remus' bedside table. Not waiting for an answer, he asked, "Don't you read anything _good_?"

"First of all, these _are_ good books," Remus told him with the slightest hint of irritation in his voice. "Secondly, I read plenty of books outside of school."

"Like what? _Practical Spell-working for the Beginning Magician_?" Sirius asked, and Remus glared at him unhappily as he turned to Peter. "What about you?" Sirius interrogated jokingly. "You strike me as a Beedle the Bard type of person."

Giving a sheepish beam, Peter answered, "Well, I've always liked Babbity Rabbity!"

Raising an eyebrow, Sirius glanced at Remus. "Well, I wasn't wrong," he pointed out.

Just then, the door to the room burst open, and James ran towards the others with his fist clenched around a tied-up napkin. Startled by the sound of the slamming door, Hardwin jumped nervously and gave a quiet hoot of surprise. "I've got it!" James exclaimed, and the others gathered around him as he dumped the napkin onto Remus' four-poster. Untying one of its corners, he procured a ginger biscuit and held it over his head victoriously. "We have enough in there to last us a month!"

"Did you steal that from the Great Hall?" Remus inquired with alarm, staring at the napkin as it spilled crumbs all over his comforter.

Frowning in confusion, Peter looked up at James. "You know we get dessert every night, right?"

"Yeah, but we don't have any in our room," James pointed out fairly, picking up the napkin again as he took a bite out of the biscuit in his hand. "Unless, of course, you happened to sneak a bunch from home before—"

With a demanding hoot, Hardwin suddenly swooped down from the windowsill and snatched the bundled napkin from James' fingers, causing his owner to leap upwards and grab for his bird to no avail. Jumping upwards, the others ran after Hardwin as several biscuits came spilling out of the partly untied napkin, and they swiped at the owl as he made several frantic circles around the room.

" _Petrificus Totalus!_ " Sirius yelled, taking out his wand and pointing it at Hardwin. His spell missed as it blasted forward, and Hardwin dodged James' grasp as he leapt from four-poster to four-poster after his pet. Flying low, Hardwin caused Remus to duck and drop _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ , and Peter tripped over the book and went down while one of his slippers flew off of his foot. Leaning down, Sirius grabbed it and flung it towards Hardwin, who squawked irritably and fluttered to a halt on top of Sirius' four-poster, the napkin still clutched in his talons.

"Hardwin, come down here this instant and give that back!" James shouted at his bird, but the tiny owl merely stared judgmentally at his owner as he slowly picked out a biscuit and crunched down on it. Crossing his arms, James stared up at him while Sirius and the others stood back a little ways, panting.

"That little prat!" James complained, tapping his foot on the floor. "There's no way to get him down without spilling the rest of the biscuits."

"I'm actually not sure that there's much left in there," Remus pointed out, staring at the broken remains of several biscuits scattered on the ground.

"Hey, do you think you could give me a leg up?" Sirius asked James, crossing his arms as he stared up at Hardwin. "I think I can reach him if I have a boost."

"Sure!" James agreed, and he instantly lowered down to his knee.

"Do you really think this is a good idea?" Remus objected hesitantly as Sirius clambered precariously on top of James, reaching for the top of the four-poster.

"Not really," James answered, "but it's the best we've got. Ready, Sirius?"

"Yeah, you can—whoa!" Sirius answered as James lifted him up with a grunt. Waving unsteadily, Sirius grabbed onto one of the bedposts to keep himself from falling as James' hold wavered.

"You got it yet?" James gasped, shaking underneath Sirius' weight. Reaching as high as he dared with James wobbling beneath him, Sirius grazed his fingers just underneath the top of the four-poster, earning a scalding glare from Hardwin.

"I'm too low!" Sirius replied, glancing back down at the floor. Gripping the wooden post with greater force, he realized his mistake too late and instead looked at Remus and Peter to keep from falling over backwards. "Could you two give us a hand?"

"What do you want us to do?" Peter questioned, tilting his head as he stared at the fragile two-person stack.

"Just lift me up!" Sirius demanded, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth to steady his trembling legs. Launching into action, Remus and Peter gripped the bottom of Sirius' feet with James and pushed upwards, boosting Sirius several more centimeters before he came to a halt once again. Fortunately, it proved just enough to raise his head over the top of the four-poster, and he grinned as he swiped at Hardwin's feet and grabbed the napkin.

"Got it!" he announced victoriously, and Hardwin flapped into the air at his sudden movement. Caught off-guard by his flailing wings, Sirius leaned backwards as the owl flew past his face, and he hardly had time to utter an astonished cry as he came crashing to the floor on top of his roommates.

As Hardwin fluttered back to the windowsill with a perturbed hoot, Sirius began laughing with James, still too surprised to get up. Beneath them, Peter started giggling hesitantly while Remus did his best to sit up and brush himself off, now covered in the broken pieces of the biscuits that had fallen from the napkin. Annoyed, he opened his mouth as the others sat up, but Sirius spoke up him before he could reprimand them.

"You were right: that _was_ a bad idea."

After another moment, Remus allowed a small laugh to escape his lips, and soon all four of them were nearly lying on the floor again, laughing and brushing the crumbs from their robes.


	4. Tryouts

**_For this excerpt, please have read chapter five of_ James Potter and the Sword of Gryffindor _, "Detention."_**

* * *

 **Tryouts**

Taking the shortcut down the third-floor stairs to the Entrance Hall, Frank ran out into the wind-swept grounds of Hogwarts with his roommates, pausing briefly to hug his robes closer around his body as the cold air blasted into him and threw his hair away from his face. Adopting a more subdued pace, he steadily trekked past the lake's edge with his friends while the threatening clouds in the distance rumbled ever nearer.

"It's bad luck that tryouts are today," Arnold commented, hugging himself through his multiple layers of clothing. Frederick had lent him his scarf for the occasion, but he was still shivering from the near-freezing air.

"Hey, at least they'll weed out the real players from the hopefuls!" Dill chirped brightly, not at all fazed by the biting wind as he kicked up a mound of dirt from the ground. "It'll make things better for you if everone else decides to stay inside!" he announced, nudging Frank in the side.

"I'm sorry to drag you all out here," Frank told his roommates, adjusting the broomstick resting on his shoulder. "You really don't have to watch me fly, you know."

"Don't be ridiculous, mate! Who would support you if we didn't?" Dill admonished him jokingly. "I don't notice you having any other friends at this school."

"Hey, watch it!" Frank protested, nearly knocking him into the lake with a shove.

"Well, he's right," Frederick agreed. "We wouldn't abandon you over a little thing like storm clouds." Although Arnold harrumphed, he did not disagree as they continued to walk towards the Quidditch pitch in the distance.

"Thanks, mates," Frank told them gratefully.

Once they finally reached the closest of the spectators' towers, Frank and the others happened across Gryffindor first-years Remus and Peter, who stood glancing around the impressive field in awe. "Hey, fellows!" Frank called out to them, making them turn around. Nodding at the old, school broomstick in Peter's hand, he asked, "Are you here for the tryouts, too?"

"Yep!" Peter replied happily. "I'm going to see if I can make Chaser!"

"Same as me, then," Frank replied as a sudden gust of wind caused Peter to lose his balance and stumble to the side, losing his grip on his broom. As he bent down to pick it up, blushing furiously, Remus turned to Frank's roommates.

"Are you here to watch?"

"Yeah," Frederick answered. "You can join us in the stands if you want."

"Warmth in numbers," Arnold added, his voice muffled from his scarf as he shivered.

Laughing scoffingly, Dill admonished, "Don't be such a coward! I could survive in this cold for days!"

"Yeah, well, not all of us are bloody snow bunnies," Arnold retorted huffily, and they all waved at Frank and Peter before climbing up into the stands to watch.

Leading Peter into the center of the pitch, Frank formed a queue with the other students who had decided to brave the chilling wind. Nervously watching the Gryffindor team in front of them, they watched the Captain carefully as she held a short conference with the other players before turning around and crossing her arms.

"Is this it?" she asked, staring down at the small amount of students with something resembling surprise in her piercing eyes. Shuffling self-consciously, the applicants glanced at each other until the Captain shook her head. "Never mind that: all the sooner we can get out of this weather, then. All right, listen up! My name is Morgan Mc—"

"Morgan!" one of the players from behind her spoke up suddenly, and the Captain turned around sharply.

"Yes, King?" she inquired impatiently, her waist-length ponytail flying in the whipping wind.

"We may have trouble filling all the spots," the dark-skinned fourth-year pointed out, nodding at the minimalistic collection of students.

Turning back around, Morgan gave a nod as she acknowledged the problem. "Very well, then," she stated, glancing at the applicants. "We have two open spots for Beaters, and one for a Chaser. Is anyone interested in the position of Beater?"

A few people down the queue from Frank, two third-years raised their hands. Looking over the other students dryly, Morgan raised her eyebrow at the two volunteers. "Well, I guess you're in. Let's hope you're some good."

"Smashing!" the taller of the two replied, and they crossed over to join the rest of the team.

"As for the rest of you, Myron fortunately recovered from spattergroit this last month, and he'll be remaining Keeper for this year," she announced. "If you're hearing this for the first time and wanted to play as Keeper, you can either try out for Chaser instead or head back to the castle." Once again, the students exchanged glances as they waited for someone to speak out, but no one did.

"All right, let's start out with you," Morgan continued, pointing directly at Frank.

"Me?" he asked, surprised.

"No, that other bloke behind you—of course I mean you! I'm pointing at you, aren't I?" she barked at him, and he jumped forward hurriedly. "Stop fooling around and get on your broomstick so you can play a round with the other Chasers! Myron will be guarding the goalposts."

Mounting his broom and rising into the air as quickly as he could, Frank flew up beside the player who had talked to Morgan earlier as well as a smaller, elfish girl. Following suit, a sickly-looking boy with a pair of protruding ears rose into position in front of the three goalposts at the end of the pitch, and Morgan threw a bright red ball into the air for King to catch.

"We'll throw the Quaffle to you—you just need to get it in one of the hoops," King told Frank, showing him the ball.

"Good luck!" the other Chaser told him before they set off, leaving Frank to follow behind them as fast as he could. Fortunately, his mock-games at home seemed to be paying off, and he kept up with them while they zoomed for the goalposts. After drifting to the right, King passed to his teammate and fell back while she waved at Frank.

"Stay down!" she called, shooting upwards, and Frank obeyed as he waited for the Quaffle to drop. When it did, he caught it firmly and flew into the scoring position, judging the distance between him and Myron, who hovered readily in front of the three golden hoops. Banking suddenly, Frank accidentally turned too fast and dove into a barrel-roll, drawing a few admiring gasps from the few spectators in the stands. Successfully distanced from the Keeper, he threw the Quaffle into the far goalpost before Myron could block his way.

"Great job, Frank!" Frederick cheered from the stands as Frank gradually dropped back down to the ground.

"Way to go!" Arnold and Remus added enthusiastically, but Arnold soon cut off and glared at Dill in irritation as he knocked into him from the side with an energetic leap.

"That's my best mate!" he yelled loudly, drawing a few annoyed glances from the other students on the field as he pumped his fist in the air. "Way to show 'em, Frank!"

Alighting next to Morgan, Frank waited expectantly as she nodded satisfactorily. "Move to the back of the queue," she told him, and he obeyed as Peter waved at him.

"Nice job!" he praised only to grow suddenly solemn as Morgan called on him to mount his broomstick.

Nearly half an hour later, Frank stood shivering with the other applicants on the pitch, now starting to lose all feeling in his nose and fingers as the air steadily grew colder. Wishing he could mount his broomstick and start moving again, he waited for Morgan to confer with the rest of the team.

"I think it's safe to announce our new player," the Captain finally announced, turning back around. Nervous, the students straightened expectantly as she walked down the queue, bypassing most of them without a glance. "What's your name?" she finally asked, reaching Frank and looking at him.

"Frank Longbottom," he answered.

"Frank Long—well, you're in," she told him, spinning around abruptly with a wave of her ponytail. As the others groaned disappointedly, she encouraged disinterestedly, "Try again next year!"

Although he had not truly expected a different outcome after the poor attempts by most of the other students, Frank still waved excitedly to his roommates as they climbed down from the stands. Approaching Peter, he patted the disheartened boy on the shoulder. "Hey, don't feel bad," he advised him. "First-years never make the team, anyway. It's at least a good sign that you showed up and tried your best!"

"Really?" Peter asked, looking up in surprise, and Frank nodded despite a nagging sensation in the back of his mind; remembering how Peter had almost collided with the center goalpost after missing his shot, he hoped he was not misleading him. "Well, congratulations anyway," Peter told him half-heartedly as they walked together towards their friends.

"That was amazing, Frank!" Dill praised him when they grew within hearing range, afterwards turning to Peter. "You did a good job, too, you know. You know what they say: make the goalposts fear you!"

"I'm pretty sure that's the Keeper," Remus corrected him, but the others all laughed anyway while Peter blushed shyly.

"We'll see you back at the castle, okay?" Frank told Remus and Peter, and he waved before walking off with his roommates. Turning to Arnold, who was still bundled up tightly beneath Frederick's scarf, he asked, "You doing all right there, mate?"

"Let's just get back to the castle before I murder Mr. Icicle King," Arnold mumbled, breaking into a brisk walk, and the others laughed appreciatively as they followed him.


	5. Skipped Class

_**For this excerpt, please have read chapter six of**_ **James Potter and the Sword of Gryffindor** _ **, "Fights and Friendship."**_

* * *

 **Skipped Class**

Although still upset, Lily Evans checked her face once more in the washroom's mirror with a brave lift of her chin. Pressing her lips together to prevent a fresh outflow of tears, she gave a firm nod; unless anyone looked closely, Lily believed he or she would not be able to spot the rawness of her eyes. Thankfully, their color no longer matched the bright red of her hair, but her flushed cheeks still showed signs of distress.

 _All of this is that Potter boy's fault_ , she thought bitterly as she sniffed loudly and glanced at the sink beneath her. _Why does he have to be so cruel?_ _It's not like Severus and I—I mean, I would never . . ._

Angry, she looked up again and glared at her reflection. _If he thinks that I have to cheat in order to be a good student, he's wrong! It's not like he or that Sirius Black ever had a good score in Potions—they're just jealous! That's all there is to it!_

Somehow, this realization did not seem to make Lily feel any better, and she noticed with horror that her cheeks had grown even redder during her contemplation. Swallowing thickly, she brushed her hair out of her face and crossed to the door, having decided to make do with her current appearance and return to her dormitory. By now, she would have missed the beginning of Defense Against the Dark Arts as well as History of Magic, and she did not want to enter the classroom to the stares of the other students.

Opening the door, Lily glanced quickly around the hallway before slipping out, finding no one within view. Grateful for the privacy, she started heading towards the stone staircase farther down the hall, but she felt a jolt of alarm in her chest when another person suddenly rounded the corner and drew up beside her; another pang of dread overtook her when she recognized the student as Remus Lupin, one of the Gryffindor first-years and also James' and Sirius' roommate. Remus was one of the last people Lily would have wanted to meet at this moment, and she hurriedly glanced away to hide her face while he did the same. Watching him from the corner of her eye, Lily saw that he looked about as surprised and discomfited as she did, and they both halted as they swayed uncertainly on their feet, unsure of what to do. Certain that he had already glimpsed her flushed features, Lily fought against her swelling throat as Remus glanced up again.

"Are . . . are you all right?" he questioned hesitantly.

"I'm fine," Lily answered swiftly, still not meeting his eyes. Hoping she did not sound as upset as she felt, she shook her head rapidly. "Why aren't you in class? We're supposed to be handing in our essay, you know."

"I know," he replied, biting his lip and glancing over his shoulder. Turning back, he stared at the floor and mumbled weakly, "I just . . . I didn't really feel like going today."

Surprised, Lily felt her threatening tears disappear as she looked up at him searchingly; Remus had never missed a class period as far as she had known, and he would never let something trivial get in the way of attendance. In fact, he was arguably the best student out of all the first-year Gryffindors, in competition with Lily herself.

Noticing her stare, Remus looked up at her and rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. "Look . . . I'm really sorry about my roommates. I'm sure they didn't mean it—they often say things that they don't believe."

Uncomfortable, Lily nodded and lowered her gaze again. "Thanks," she muttered, and Remus followed her eyes to the ground.

"I know it probably doesn't mean anything coming from me," he continued haltingly, "but I don't think they're all that bad. They just don't think things through before saying them, and they can be awfully stubborn. You get used to it, eventually."

Curious, Lily glanced up at him, feeling good enough for a small smile. She had seen Remus with his roommates many times, and it always seemed like he was watching from the background along with Peter. Even though he had never openly berated James and Sirius for their apparent fondness for rule-breaking or outright rudeness, Lily had noticed his disapproving glances wander their way from time to time. Had he possibly skipped class for her sake?

"That's all right," she spoke up, trying her best for a confident smile, and he glanced up at her again. "It's not your fault, Remus."

Reddening, Remus itched the back of his neck again and looked around. "Were you heading back to the common room?" he asked, motioning towards the staircase behind them.

"Yes," Lily answered before tilting her head questioningly. "Did you want to go back together?"

"That'd be swell," he agreed, and Lily smiled again despite herself. Feeling much better, she started with Remus back towards Gryffindor Tower, walking side by side with him up the marble staircase leading to the next floor.


	6. Christmas Morning in Somerset

**_For this excerpt, please have read chapter nine of_ James Potter and the Sword of Gryffindor _, "A Birthday Gone Wrong."_**

* * *

 **Christmas Morning in Somerset**

In a rush of gut-wrenching motion, Albus Dumbledore felt his feet leave the familiar firmness of his Hogwarts office floor and come to rest on a much softer surface, his shoes instantly sinking down into the moistness of the early morning grass. Stepping forward, he immediately regretted not placing some sort of water-repelling charm on his shoes as he felt the dew seep through to his toes. However, he could not think of such things now; moving onto the paved street, lit only by the parallel lines of lampposts underneath the pre-dawn sky, he pocketed the broken eyeglass that had doubled as a Portkey and joined the Aurors gathered around the scene.

"Gone already, then?" Dumbledore asked the leader of their company when he grew close enough to pick out individual facial features, and the Minister of Magic turned around with a deep frown etched into her prematurely-wrinkled face.

"It appears so," Eugenia Jenkins answered in a voice lingering on a barely-suppressed sigh. "The Ministry barely had time to respond before the rioters Disapparated."

"Was anyone hurt?" Dumbledore inquired, gazing around the surroundings. In the middle of the quiet, Muggle-inhabited town stood half a dozen Aurors, who were examining the damage done to the nearby houses as well as attempting to fend off the Ministry-issued reporters, who wielded massive cameras and were busy taking photographs of the destruction. Several stunned Muggles were being tended to by Healers from St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, though none of them seemed to bear any visible wounds other than shock. Most likely, they would simply have to be Obliviated after the distressing events of the night, and the Aurors had already taken care of the partially-collapsed houses along both sides of the street. Once again, it appeared that the Death Eaters had not stayed more than a few minutes to create their desired chaos, and it would not surprise Dumbledore if no one had in fact been injured during the commotion.

"See for yourself," Jenkins answered, and Dumbledore turned with surprise towards the other end of the street. Looking away to talk with the scattered Aurors as Dumbledore walked in the indicated direction, Jenkins ignored him while he approached a cluster of bushes in front of a tidy little house, where a group of Healers were gathered in busy activity around an unmoving body. After a moment of silent observation, Dumbledore turned slowly back towards Jenkins where she stood with the Ministry workers.

"Rather interesting, don't you think?" he asked her contemplatively as she looked back at him. "The only person who has been harmed so far in these attacks is no less than one of our very own Quidditch heroes—and not a very prominent one, at that."

"So you recognize her," Jenkins stated in a slight tone of surprise, raising one of her eyebrows.

"I don't consider myself completely left behind by the times quite yet," Dumbledore replied. "At least, not so much as to not recognize a professional Quidditch player when I see one."

"Tracker was found like that in front of her house," Jenkins explained, motioning again towards the cluster of Healers next to the bushes. "Completely senseless, but lacking any physical injuries. I'd say that she took several Stunning Spells to the head, but that's what the Healers are trying to figure out now."

"So why did you call me?" Dumbledore inquired. "I don't see much purpose to my presence here."

"Then perhaps you don't see the importance of your reputation," Jenkins responded, and she motioned yet again, this time towards the reporters attempting to interrogate the Aurors. "After the last few attacks, I hoped you could provide a few words to the press. We don't want the people panicking, after all."

"Forgive me if I'm mistaken," Dumbledore began, "but I thought the people had the right to react with horror if their Muggle neighbors were being targeted by radicals."

"Well, of course they have the right!" Jenskins exclaimed, letting out a sigh of exasperation. Fighting the twitching sensation in the corner of his mouth, Dumbledore remembered how often she used that same tone of voice around him; perhaps it had something to do with his temperament. "But Albus," Jenkins continued, "we don't want to leave the wizarding community with a negative impression of these events. If they can't trust the Ministry to handle the problem, who can they trust?"

"I would rather hope that they would trust the Ministry without the press advocating for them," Dumbledore replied simply, blinking patiently behind his half-moon spectacles. "Also, don't you think they _should_ have a negative view of such incidents? In any case, what is the authority of the newpapers to tell people what they should and shouldn't believe? The whole business seems rather backwards to me. I thought public opinion was supposed to influence the press; after all, reporters interview people to write their columns, not the columns themselves. Whatever the articles want to say can wait, don't you think?"

"I think you're misunderstanding me," Jenkins stated impatiently, but Dumbledore shook his head.

"Unfortunately, I think I understand you quite well," he told her. "At least, I understand the reasons behind your misguidance, though I may not agree with them myself. But," he sighed as he glanced over at the buzzing reporters, who had finally seemed to grow bored with the unresponsive Aurors, "I think it may be impossible to aboid interrogation at this point. As you said yourself, I have a bit of a reputation."

"Is that Dumbledore?" one of the reporters called out from a distance, and the rest of them turned eagerly in the indicated direction before hurrying closer to catch the Hogwarts Headmaster before he could escape.

Turning to Jenkins again, Dumbledore nodded and said, "I hope you'll excuse me. It seems I have a few priorities to take care of."

"Thank you, Albus," Jenkins told him before he could stride away, although she sounded not the least bit satisfied that he had finally decided to fulfill her request.

"And Eugenia," Dumbledore spoke up as she began to turn away, halting her mid-step, "I hope you won't be caught up in Somerset long. It _is_ Christmas morning, after all."

At a farewell nod from the Minister, Dumbledore turned and started striding in the opposite direction of the waving reporters, giving himself some time before they could catch up. Although he disagreed with Jenkins on many issues, he had yet to disregard her fortitude. She was one of the strongest minds he knew, if not also one of the stubbornest. Glancing over his shoulder thoughtfully, he looked back at her while overlooking the media employees; facing forward again, he simply shook his head and started humming softly. He would not be able to change her mind anytime soon, and he at least hoped that the wizarding world would not have to pay for her double-mindedness.

* * *

 **Have a late happy Hannukah, early happy Three Kings' Day and New Year's, and a merry Christmas! Or, as Harry and his friends say, a _happy_ Christmas—though we can just forget about that one, don't you think? :)**


	7. The News

_**For this**_ _ **last**_ _ **and**_ _ **final**_ _ **excerpt, please have read the last chapter of**_ **James Potter and the Sword of Gryffindor** _ **, "Back Home."**_

* * *

 **The News**

Unable to still the unease growing in his stomach, Lucius Malfoy walked as quickly as he could down the dark hallway and towards the distant room. Those whom he had left behind did not dare accompany him as long as they could avoid it; after all, it was not their bad news to tell. This one rested solely on Malfoy, and he only hoped that it would not cost him the worst.

"Enter," the cold, high voice sounded from the other side of the doorway, and Malfoy paused with his hand resting just over the handle. How had the speaker known that he was at the door?

Wasting no more time, Malfoy opened the door and stepped quietly inside, letting the entrance close behind him. Unwilling to move closer to the large armchair just in front of the dead fireplace, he clasped his hands behind his back and waited for the chair's occupant to speak again.

"You're back from school, I see," the high voice sighed, its owner still facing in the opposite direction. Malfoy could not make out any of the speaker's features save for a pale hand resting on the arm of the chair, its slender fingers drumming slowly. Lifting so its palm faced upwards, the hand beckoned Malfoy closer with one finger. "Did you succeed?"

Obeying the hand's request, Malfoy stepped forward only to stop again and steel himself. "I—"

"You don't have it?" the voice interrupted, and the hand came to rest on the armchair again. Struck with a sudden jolt of fear at the voice's dangerous lilt, Malfoy braced himself and pressed on.

"The mission was not a total failure—"

" _Liar_ ," the voice hissed, now carrying more than just a slight hint of anger. Horrified, Malfoy watched as the speaker stood, his black robe matching his slicked-back hair as it cascaded down his shoulders. "Don't tell me that I have put my faith in the wrong person."

"You haven't," Malfoy insisted immediately, his tone coming off stronger than he had intended. In front of him, the cold-voiced wizard glanced over his shoulder with one blood-shot eye, and Malfoy cleared his throat. "If it is not so bold for me to say, I believe that I may have found another purpose to my attendance at Hogwarts. Although the mission's . . . primary objective was foiled, I think I have a way to increase your army's numbers from the inside of the school itself."

"What do you mean by this?"

"I had a bit of help from the inside," Malfoy explained. "From one of the students, actually. A first-year named Severus Snape." When he did not receieve a response, he continued, "He and a few others in my House would be promising candidates for your ranks."

For a moment, there was only eerie silence, and Malfoy watched as the other wizard's head slowly turned to face forward again. As if calculating the idea Malfoy had just provided, the man raised his pale hand to his robes' pocket, and Malfoy stiffened in alarm.

"You remind me of myself when I was younger," the high, cold voice spoke, the wandering hand slowly pulling out a long, thin wand. "Talented, ambitious, and always on the lookout for opportunity. And yet, in one thing we differ: you lack the precious art of subtlety . . . as well as servility."

Turning around, he flourished his wand in full view of Malfoy, who stared at its tip reverently. "I will keep your suggestion in mind. You, however, should contemplate the consequences of failing your orders. I seldom forgive inefficiency."

"Understood," Malfoy breathed, backing gratefully towards the door and away from the waxy face before him. "Thank you, Dark One. I won't forget your mercy."

"No, you won't," Lord Voldemort answered, turning his back towards the door again as it swung shut.

* * *

 ** _That's it! Thank you for reading all of these extra scenes. For a reward, now that Christmas break is coming to a close, I will start publishing the next book in the series,_ James Potter and the Lost School!**


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